Gilded Age
by Isis Lied
Summary: Even the brightest of all lights eventually fades. No star is different; none can escape this fate. But, there will always be those who try. Makishima-centric


Gilded Age

Summary: Even the brightest of all lights eventually fades. No star is different; none can escape this fate. But, there will always be those who try. Makishima-centric

A/N: I've taken a break from writing fluff and the like and decided to tackle a character study with Makishima. To be honest, I didn't like him at all in the beginning. Eventually, all his quotes and the surprisingly (tragic) romantic way he viewed the world won me over. Anyway, if you get the chance, please drop a review and tell me what you think! Thanks! I also want to thank cherryblossoms86, as usual for all the help. Brainstorming with you really helped with the overall quality of the piece. Also, my favorite poets are T.S Eliot and E.E Cummings so yah... and I apologize for the lack of literature references; it's really difficult to quote them and use them in the way Makishima does.

* * *

_Webster was much possessed by death_

_And saw the skull beneath the skin;_

_And breastless creatures under ground,_

_Leaned backward with a lipless grin..._

* * *

i. Drops of gold filter through the tiny window in the child's room, illuminating a small portion of the marble floor. Pale feet skirt around the explosion of light, frightened and transfixed by the appearance of a setting sun. Wide topaz eyes stare through the cracked window in awe as the giant in the sky slowly makes its way below the horizon. The boy watches until the final sliver of light disappears, leaving him colder and emptier than before. He is _always_ left in the shadows.

There was a time when he thought the light would never return. For days rain poured from the sky, drenching the world in steel grays and earl blues with only his eyes as remembrance of days past. When the storm finally passed the boy pressed himself against the cool glass just for a _glimmer_ of sunlight.

(but it's only a memory now…)

* * *

ii. The man slowly blinks awake, silver eyelashes wet with moisture he would never admit was there. He reflexively tightens his grip on the hand-bound book. Fingers lovingly caress the page, relishing in the feel of real parchment, of something concrete as he tips his head back to stare at the stars. Even now, the spheres of light were spellbinding to the man as he watched them flicker on his ceiling. For a moment, he forgets himself and smiles (not a grin or a smirk, but a _genuine _smile) at the swirling stars. But, these mistakes are far and few in between and suddenly, the smile contorts into a grimace. Shutting off the display, the darkness (and the shadows) returns.

The world was too bright to see _real_ stars.

* * *

iii. White hair and gold eyes were a genetic masterpiece to his parents. Born of average looks, average intelligence, the two wanted their son to be an angel. It's a shame they got a demon in return.

* * *

iv. Shougo Makishima is five years old when his parents realize perfection comes at a price.

It's his first psycho-pass exam and all wait with baited breath as the scanner does its job. A woman's voice echoes dimly through the clinic with the announcement: crime coefficient of zero.

Everyone laughs. Surely this was a mistake; no living being could exist without a sliver of evil. The doctors laugh it off, administering the scan again. This time the voice sounds hollow, reading the same verdict as before.

Suddenly, the boy isn't an angel. He isn't even _human_.

* * *

v. The _fall _is painful.

Individual feathers are plucked, pulled, singed as he falls further into darkness. Ivory horns emerge from his skull as he lets out a strangled wail, screaming while his skin boils under the heavy flames. In moments the angel is long forgotten (buried and dead) and the demon only remains. But, the light continues to taunt him with its radiance, even at the bottom of the pit.

(They say even the most beautiful of angels eventually fall…)

* * *

vi. He takes to the role of monster very well.

The boy is given the west wing of the sprawling mansion to do as he pleases. The silver-haired child becomes accustomed to the loneliness, the silence that seems to manifest in any room he enters. His side of the mansion is in shambles, with all the windows (minus one) boarded up to keep away prying eyes (and to hide their shame away). There is no electricity, only candles to light his way down the stretching hallways layered in cobwebs and rusted gold. Thus, the little monster without a name continues his dreary existence, living only for the golden sun that warms his chilled heart, until that too is frozen over (not even a thousand suns could break the ice).

* * *

vii. Books become his only friends. His wing contains the sprawling study where he absorbs information, taking in the works of Fitzgerald and Shakespeare until one day, when there are no more books left. Each one had been read cover to cover, pages dog-eared and worn; some are even covered in tears. The child wanders out of his wing of the mansion for the first time in years to search for more books (and to touch a real sun). He nearly faints at the sight.

With the door only opened a crack he sees _his _mother and father playing with some baby, laughing as they snuggle against each other. He doesn't need to touch his face to feel the tears that burn ugly trails against his porcelain skin. The baby coos and cries, blue eyes fixing on the forgotten child. A bright smile flickers across its face, giggling, pointing towards the door.

When his parents turn around they only see a closed door, no trace of the crying monster. This is when Shougo Makishima learns that anyone can be replaced.

* * *

viii. The mansion burns to the ground one autumn evening. Makishima sacrifices his books, his _everything_, except for a single token of his parents. His father's most prized possession: an ornamental razor passed down from generation to generation. The blade feels cold against his hand as he watches the flames swallow the _house_ (it was never a home for the boy) and he can't help but feel a twinge of remorse. It's a tiny pull at his frozen heart but he brushes it off, placing all his unneeded emotions in a box locked up in his mind.

Yet, he can't get the sight of his brother's blue eyes staring imploringly (pleading for his life in a way only a child could) at him as he set match after match.

* * *

ix. The fake looks of pity make him sick. Shuffled from relative to relative, the boy is never given a chance to set his roots, not that he wanted to. His 'caretakers' were snakes, anyway. No one cared _for_ him, no one cared _about_ him; he was just a bargaining tool, a chip to be placed down until one could turn it in for a large sum of money. His inheritance was the only thing keeping them from slitting his throat. The leers and hushed voices of his so called relatives foster a deep hatred in humanity for the young boy.

They were nothing but sheep. They ate, slept, and died under the same blue sky. Their hearts dreamed of nothing more than riches and tranquility. But, Shougo Makishima dreamed of _immortality_.

* * *

x. He is fourteen when he meets a man by the name of Choe Gu-Sung. The silver-haired teen is walking in the rain, unaware of anything but the gentle patter of the drops against the ground. He is soaked to the bone, white hair plastered against his neck and face as he tilts his head up to look at the dark clouds. He lifts out his arms, closing his eyes, relaxing in the steady stream of rain.

The park was always empty, forgotten as the world around it evolved and turned without it. Secluded and warm, the teen would often go there to think, read, or to be away from his 'guardians'. But, on that fateful spring morning, he wasn't alone.

The muffled sound of boots against grass startled the teen, causing him to reflexively reach for the razor in his pocket, brandishing the weapon. A light chuckle could be heard as the figure drew closer, hands up in mock surrender. The stranger clutched a dark umbrella, looking at the younger man expectantly.

"You'll catch a cold in this weather, you know. Don't you have an umbrella?"

The boy shook his head, lowering the razor slightly. "Who are you?"

The Korean grinned, "Just a person, nothing more I assure you."

"Why are you here," Makishima motioned to the barren park and lifeless trees, "when there is nothing to be gained?"

"I wouldn't say there is nothing to gain. Furthermore, this place has a strange pull… it's like when you see a car crash. It could be horrible, someone may be dead, but we all stop to look at the wreckage and chaos, drawn for reasons we ourselves cannot comprehend."

The teen sighed, pocketing the weapon, frowning at the stranger.

"Ah, introductions are due, I assume? My name is Choe Gu-Sung. You are…?" He holds out his hand, grinning widely.

"Shougo Makishima." The teen responds, swatting the hand away. He continues to walk down the concrete pathway, never turning to look back at the brown-haired man.

"W-wait a second, Makishima!" The Korean follows behind him, panting as he caught up with the swift albino.

"Here, you need this more than me, kid." Handing him the umbrella, the man walks off, giving one more grin.

* * *

xi. It would not be the last time they meet. Somehow, after many a day spent talking in the park, the two became friends (well, to Choe anyway). They discuss books, society, and, somehow, the teen feels a _little _less alone.

It was one particularly chilly afternoon when Makishima learns a startling revelation of his acquaintance.

"I had a kid around your age, Makishima-kun. It happened two years ago… when he was taken from me. He had always been rebellious, too smart for his own damn good. We decided to move to Japan and for our first psycho-pass exam everything went fine. No problems. Powder blue hues." He laughs bitterly, staring sadly at the ground.

"Anyway, I don't know what happened. Maybe it was the stress of assimilating into a new culture; maybe it was the death of my wife… regardless, one day we had the MWPSB breaking down our door. His crime-coefficient was high enough to unlock Lethal Eliminator. I did nothing; I thought they were going to paralyze him, give him therapy. Heh, how wrong I was. Everything they told us when we first moved here was a lie. Sibyl _killed_ my son. Now I have to live like a rat in the sewers, hiding from street scanners all day. That's why I like this place; no tests, no holograms, just the world in all its glory."

The silver-haired teen slipped on his mask of indifference, stepping away from the man. "We seem to have similar goals, Choe. Perhaps we could work together…"

He turned back around, hand outstretched. The Korean took it, pulling himself off the bench. "You've got yourself a deal."

* * *

xii. Once he turns eighteen, the man takes his inheritance and runs, erasing his past with the help of Choe Gu-Sung. They find a provider in Toyohiya Senguji, an avid hunter with a debilitating disease. He eventually becomes the first man to be fully mechanized (minus brain and spinal cord), fulfilling a wish of evolution. Shougo's wish, however, remains to be granted.

* * *

xiii. He would never consider himself a superstitious man. Yet, he continued to look up at the sky.

The stars created tracks in the sky, pure lines of light that swept against the dark cosmos like a paintbrush. Whether it is out of desperation or naivety the man makes a single wish to the beacons of hope.

The world continues to _spin _on without him; a _supernova_ erupts in his heart.

* * *

xiv. The introduction of a man by the name of Shinya Kougami shakes him to the very core. He has never felt more of a pull, a connection to some other human being before in his life.

Fate wraps her hands around their throats and the two are thrown in an ocean of despair, each set adrift in a world they could never accept. But, Fate is ever the cruel mistress, throwing these two apart. They were _not_ like two ships passing in the night. Their meeting would not be forgotten. Both drift towards the same beacon (the same purpose) and it's in their collision that they realize just how similar they really are.

(And a _new _universe is born…)

* * *

xv. Choe Gu-Sung's death comes as a surprise.

A brief flash of something other than boredom passes his face at the video of the man exploding (bursting into something that could never be put back together). He would never admit to how satisfying squashing a god of Sibyl truly was; to feel the bones crack and twist like simple twigs as he broke limb after limb, until finally breaking the skull—he is reminded of an ant under the shadow of a boot—and laughs when the android shutters to a stop.

"So, Touma, do androids dream of electric sheep? Is this sleep not fitting for a god?"

* * *

xvi. It's fitting he thinks, when the same _beautiful _sun sends him a final farewell.

He remembers the days when he would watch the setting giant in all its ethereal glory sink below the horizon. He remembers when just seeing it was enough. He remembers…knowledge blooms behind topaz eyes, explodes in a symphony of 'what ifs' and 'what could have beens'; but the field of wheat has already become a _graveyard_. The wind whispers promises of peace and acceptance but the man can only think of the pain and heartache and the loneliness that brings tears to his eyes.

For the first time in years, Shougo Makishima cries. And the little, lost boy is alone again.

* * *

_He knew the anguish of the marrow_

_The ague of the skeleton;_

_No contact possible to flesh_

_Allayed the fever of the bone…_

_-T.S Eliot, Whispers of Immortality_


End file.
